GTA: Soldier's War
by jediapprentice6700
Summary: A dishonorably discharged marine returns home to find his brother had been kidnapped by a Triad crime boss. Now he must work his way up the Liberty City crime ladder to rescue him, and maybe even Liberty City as well. Rated M for everything GTA. R&R PLZ!
1. Homecoming

In Liberty City, few people take notice of things. When a well dressed lawyer was mugged on the corner of Seymour and Parr, nobody noticed. When the National Bank of Liberty was robbed and two people were killed, nobody noticed. When a teenage boy tosses a baseball in the street with his friend, nobody notices.

So when a handsome young man in Marine Corp dress blues crossed Pancho Street and entered his apartment building at 3:15 PM on January 21, 2009, absolutely nobody noticed.

They would notice soon though.

Jonathan Luke, Johnny to his friends, entered his apartment, the strong smell of Liberty City musk overpowering his senses. Dizzy, he sat down on his couch, his dress blues crumpling under his trimmed frame.

The television went on, a commercial for Burger Shot advertising The Heart Stopper, Johnny's favorite burger.

Fast food, however, was something he had sworn off since he joined the Marines.

Then again, the Marines weren't much of a problem anymore, were they? In his mind, Johnny could still see the stone cold face of the officer as he handed him his discharge papers.

Rage, anger, hatred, everything boiled up in his heart like a pot of stew. He hated them for what they had done. He hated them all.

After he was kicked out, Johnny had taken his pay and tried to find home. His parents were dead, his other family too far away. All he had left was his brother in Liberty City. They both had remembered playing in the streets back when the streets were clean and they were years away from being "The Worst Place in America".

They grew up, and they still stayed around, even with people like Salvatore Leone and The McRearys were in power and the criminal Underworld seemed to thrive.

His brother, Bobby, and Johnny both went to college, and came out pretty well. Bobby went into architecture, Johnny into law.

Then on that historic day on September 11, 2001, the World Trade Center fell in Lower Manhattan. In a surge of patriotism, Johnny leaped at the chance to serve his country, joining the Marine Corps to prove it, leaving Bobby behind in the cruel, unforgiving world of Liberty City.

The doorbell rang, snapping Johnny out of his trance. He stood up, plodding over to the door, tossing his hat and bayonet over the couch. He was hallway through unbuttoning his shirt when he turned the brass knob.

"Package for a Mr. Jonathon Luke, sir." The Dominican post man smiled radiantly, his wide grin diminished by a gathering crowd of discolored, packed-together teeth.

"That's me," Johnny replied, his shirt unbuttoned completely, removed to reveal a white t-shirt underneath. The man shoved a clipboard in the Marine's hand, which he gratefully signed. Afterwards, the courier produced a small brown box from his hip bag, handing it to the exhausted veteran.

"Thank you." Johnny slipped the man a 5- dollar bill, which he took warily, the many years of poverty back home having made him very careful with his money.

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate it."

And with that, he slipped out the door.

Johnny put his package on the table with the mail his landlord had collected over time, not even glancing at the contents.

He scanned the room. In it was a shoddy counter, a soggy couch, a shabby collection of junk that was the peak of what The Worst Place in America offered.

There were plenty of "Sh" words he could think of to describe this place.

He shuffled into the bathroom (another "sh" word) and decided to take his first shower in a week. The cold, uncared for pipes launched a blast of freezing water at him, reddening his skin, the spray vaguely reminding him of machine gun bullets.

He brushed his teeth; this time with an electric brush instead of the cheap, elementary school funded ones he had been given back in Iraq.

His razor was broken again, he reminded himself to get a new one the next time he stopped by the store.

He pulled the towel off and dropped it in the basket labeled 'Laundromat', and redressed himself in a pair of Denim jeans and a green t-shirt. He felt cool, clean, and refreshed after a long tour of duty. Only this time, he wouldn't be going back.

He sat back on his couch, neatly folding his clothes and placing them in a box, which he shoved in the back of his closet, behind his freshly pressed suit. Tomorrow he would call the firm, see if any of his old friends could get his leg back in the puddle.

His eyes flicked over to the mail cluttered on his greasy kitchen table. _1500 a month my ass, _He thought. He stood up and looked at them.

He got mostly junk mail: a brochure for the Digital Conversion, a copy of the Liberty Tree dated two weeks ago, the headline reading, "Terror at Happiness Island!", some old coupons, a subscription offer from TW, and a notice of discharge he automatically trashed. He looked over at the package, an inkling of rebuttal surging through his hand. As soon as he laid eyes on that package, he knew he should have thrown it away.

But, why would he do that? It was just a harmless package.

He really should have thrown it away.

As soon as he opened the flap, a small video, like the ones used in VHS players, fell into his outstretched hand. He was lucky to already have an old VHS player in his closet. Curious, he hooked it up to his TV, removing his DVD player out of the way, along with a few movies like _Terminator 2, _and_ The Grudge_. The plug slid eerily into the outlet, a smooth fit. A cold chill went down his spine.

_What's wrong with you, Johnny boy? Get a hold of yourself._

He straightened up, almost snapping a salute on instinct, but instead turned on his TV set and pushed the videocassette into the silver box. He sat on the couch again, the smell of rotten food and dirt floating into his nostrils.

In horror, he stared down the image of his brother. But Bobby wasn't like he normally was. His happy-go-lucky lifestyle had changed, his entire demeanor grim. That was just a look at his eyes. Other than that haunting observation, Johnny couldn't help but notice the blood spots and bruises dotting his brother's face, or the thin, sweat stained cloth forced tightly between his lips. Neither did he notice the chair he was strapped to, nor the large knife in his leg, sticking out at a strange angle.

Johnny clenched his fists tightly, letting the image sink in before it was replaced by another man, an Asian with a thick accent. He grinned mischievously at the camera, and then he came farther into view. Johnny felt like wringing him dry.

Worse, he felt like killing him. Not just that, but he wanted to peel his skin off while he squirmed, slicing off each bit as he screamed and kicked in his struggle. He wanted him to suffer.

The already hated voice then spoke up, crackling on the screen like an aged movie actor.

"Hello, mother fucker."


	2. The Triangle Club

"You still got a VCR homie? What is this, the twentieth century?" Laughter followed the cruel voice as it slid out of the man's mouth. "Well, I guess it don't matter now, huh. I betch ya got some questions, huh? I understand, but that ain't gonna save your brother, now is it?"

Johnny slammed his fist into the ground. The voice spoke up again. "Now you listen close, your brother, he's as good as dead. The only reason he's alive is cuz he says you got money. I want 50 grand, and I let him go. You got the money, you find a way to contact me, or this little guy…" The man reached over at Bobby, dangling a pocket knife over his head, "This guy's dead."

Johnny grew slowly frustrated with this guy. He was broke, dishonored, and his brother was kidnapped. What was he to do now was lost to him?

"Oh, I know what you're thinkin'. Why me? Well, your guy here, he owes me some money, and I don't think you want his death on your conscience. I don't care how long it takes, just get me my money, and your brother lives. Got it?"

They mocked him a bit, and then jammed the knife into Bobby's leg deeper. A strangled cry rang out and for the first time in years, Johnny saw tears in his brother's eyes, rolling down his face like a river.

"Oh, and don't bother takin' this to the police, they won't be able to find us. Trust me on that." The man removed the knife, and Bobby grunted in agony. "Seeya _r__词_"

The video cut off, cuing Johnny to lose his cool. He leapt off the floor, snatched the TV, yanked it out of the socket, and slammed it onto the ground, crushing the remains with the heel of his foot. The whole time he was screaming like a madman.

He turned around, stomping loudly into the kitchen, tossing drawers onto the floor until a small silver revolver dropped out of one. He picked it up, made sure it was loaded, and then found some spare rounds in his closet. David pulled a dark navy coat on over his shirt, and jammed the pistol into his pocket, heading for the door.

A sudden rapping woke him from his rage. "Mr. Luke, Mr. Luke!" Johnny opened the door slightly, cracking it to make sure his landlord didn't see his mess.

"Hello, Miss Dansforth. How are you."

The sweet old lady tried to peer into his apartment, wrapped tightly in a pink bathrobe. "I heard some noise….is everything all right?"

Off the top of his head- "I'm fine, I tripped and knocked over some things on my shelf, that's all. I'm sorry if I woke you." He said to the narcoleptic woman.

"Oh, do you need help cleaning up?"

"No, I'm fine," he inched out and shut the door behind him, "I'm just going to go pick something up from the store. Kisses?"

"Kisses." The old lady's signature remark had him having to ask to make her more pleasant to approach.

Johnny edged past her and started descending the stairs to the street.

Murder, rape, gang violence. Liberty City is filled with criminals who specialize in these fields. The obituaries section in a local newspaper is four pages long. If one swam in the local bay, they would be lucky not to find any bodies washed up on shore. The police don't even have a cold case unit. What's done is done, and current crime moves to the focus of their objectives.

So when Johnny Luke stepped on the 9:00 PM bus to The Triangle Club, nobody asked any questions, even when he pulled a gun out of his pocket and checked to see if it was loaded.

"Stop there, I'm gonna have to frisk you." The bald black man said as he stopped Johnny in front of the club. Johnny had stashed his gun in a small holster on his foot. The ammo was jammed in his pocket, but the guard wouldn't care.

But, he did and took the ammo anyway, leaving Johnny with a mere six shots in case things went bad.

Rave music boomed over the speakers, the sensual neon pink vibrantly glowing across the room, illuminating the vision. Johnny does not care for any of this right now, he turned left as soon as he entered, silently slipping into the office nearby. A small, budgy, balding man in large horn-rimmed glasses sat typing furiously at his computer. Johnny lifted his pant leg, pulling the gun from the holster, cocking it, freezing the typing man in his place.

Slowly, he turned around to find the cool barrel of a gun staring back at him. Johnny's face was stone, hard. He was back into the vibe of killing, just like in Iraq. He never flinched or moved. He noticed the small knife on the desk near the owner, and there was a shotgun next to the filing cabinet. Both were dangerous for him. Johnny wouldn't let the man move for either.

"The fuck are you?" the man's voice was raspy, strained.

Johnny replied professionally, "No one you need to know. I need information. Give it to me and I'll leave your face intact."

The man glanced quickly to the pump-action next to his files. "What information."

"I need to know who would know how to get in with the Asians."

The man laughed heartily. "HA! Which Asians? Yakuza? Triad? Do you even know? What are you, a cop?" He sat back proudly.

Johnny boiled over, lunging forward and slammed into the chair, his fingers digging into the cushion hard, breaking the skin. He shoved the gun in the manager's face. "Fuck you, I want info. I'm looking for the Triads, and if you don't tell me something now, your brains will be splattered all over that wall, and your little operation's gonna be blown to hell."

Johnny remembered the Asian speaking Chinese, meaning he was a Triad member. It was good he took foreign languages in high school.

"You don't intimidate me…" Johnny replied by snapping the manager's finger back until he heard a bone snap. The man howled in pain. "Okay! Okay! I'll tell you anything, just stop this!"

Johnny stepped back a foot, his weapon still trained on the hostage. "The dons are in control of pretty much everything, so try getting in with the Italians. They've been dealing with the Chinese lately; maybe they could help you out. Go to the diner on Denver Avenue, it is called Drusilla's. Ask for a guy named Leonardo Pegorino, he runs the place. He can tell you what's going down."

His mouth dripping in drool, the manager, sat back in his chair defiantly. Keeping his gun pointed at the man's forehead, he moved left, and picked up the shotgun with his left hand, steadying his right in case of an emergency. Using one slick movement, he cocked the loaded weapon and also pointed it at the man. His revolver retreated into his jacket, and the shotgun took its place. There would be no escape now.

Johnny unzipped his jacket and used it to cover his new weapon, turning around to leave.

He heard the whizzing of a blade in the air, and he turned to dodge. Seeing his opening, he grabbed the knife in mid- air and turned the tables on his attacker, sending the knife into his heart. "Shouldn't have done that." He remarked.

The manager contracted in his chair for a moment, blood sliding down from the wound in a straight line, and also dripping from his mouth, until final he fell limp, slinking down into a doll-like position. He was dead. Johnny took this cue as his leave. It felt strange to again kill someone, especially in cold blood.

It felt GOOD. He contemplated what he had done as he went for the back door, passing many whistling bachelors and bored married men, all groveling at a teenage girl in a skimpy thong and bra doing an ironic pole dance on stage. She was maybe 17 or 18, still in school (maybe). Johnny shook his head at the girl's stupidity.

"Hey baby, I bet you want some of this, huh?" a topless woman in a red thong who had a garter stuffed with dollar bills approached him. She looked weather beaten but horny, and Johnny labeled her another failure of society. Never would he stoop to the level of hiring pleasure. Never.

So, he pushed right past her and left the strip club without looking back, the cry "Homo!" following him in that expectant, seductive voice called after him in obvious exasperation.

But Johnny ignored it, his brother on his mind. He walked over to the bus stop on the street, zipping his jacket to cover the newly acquired weapon. A charter bus slowed to a stop and he boarded, depositing a few dollars into the plastic bin by the driver. He sat and stared out the window, observing the madness of Liberty City. Muggers, thieves and prostitutes ignored his journey, as he ignored theirs. Yet soon, he would be among their ranks as a petty criminal in Liberty, working up the chain to find his brother.

If he was killed in the process, there was no hope for his brother.

And yet, there didn't seem to be much hope that his brother was alive anyway.


	3. Meeting Mr Pegorino

**Hey guys, how is everyone? I guess now is the time for you less interested people to leave. Only serious readers (and to a greater extent writers) can continue from here. **

**By the way, if you like this, check out my profile and see some other stories I wrote. I don't get that many readers, and it gets kind of lonely. ; -;. Read and please review my stories!!!!**

Drucilla's deli was fancy in many ways, but what caught Johnny Luke's eye first was how empty it was, even at lunch hour. Little Italy was usually busy at this time of day, crammed with young lovers and dating co-workers. Maybe the gossip surrounding the Italians was enough to drive them all away. Only a few tables were filled up in the entire restaurant.

Johnny's eyes drifted across the patrons until his eyes landed on a man in a dark green V-neck and a black shirt. His pants were fit to dine in, tan and straight. Johnny could almost hear it crumple as he shuffled his feet. He sat down across from him.

"Mr. Pegorino?"

The man was caught by surprise, but his face quickly cooled when an armed bodyguard stepped behind him. "How wants to know?"

"Just a guy looking for work that's all."

"If I had a dime for every time I heard that one…" The man had gray hair, slicked back with gel, and his face was well rounded and curved, but he looked like a killer too.

"Yeah, work. Anything that pays is good."

"Yeah, sure. How do I know I can trust you?"

"Well, from the looks of things, your outfit looks pretty bad. Lost your strip joint to the Gambetti's, lot of guys dead…I'd say you're in bad shape. If your cousin was still in charge, he probably wouldn't-"

"Shut the hell up! Don't even mention that dick head's name! Jimmy Pegorino was the best of us, The Best! You got no right to talk about him that way!" Anger flushed the man's cheeks. Johnny wanted to smile. He didn't.

"Now I'd get out of my restaurant before I have my man here blow your fuckin' head all over my table, and that'll be a bitch to clean. So I'm giving you ten seconds. One….two…"

The man flicked cigarette ashes in his direction as he spoke. Johnny waited for a moment, then stood up, nodded politely and left out the front door. He heard behind him, "Who the fuck does he think he is?" He smiled at that, and ducked into the alleyway beside Drusilla's, waiting for his quarry to emerge.

An hour later, bathed in the new morning sun, Johnny having waited out until the morning, Leonardo Pegorino finally crawled out of Drusilla's, a cell phone in his hand. He looked around suspiciously before dialing a number. Johnny followed him down the street, partially remembering that two cars is how far one should stay behind. So he stayed about two cars worth behind his prey, analyzing every movement carefully, observing the specimen he held before his eyes.

The phone went away, clicking off as it retreated into his pockets, hitting what was likely a clip of hundred dollar bills tucked neatly in his pants for later use.

Johnny noticed him duck into a gas station and speak to the manager, and then he moved downtown for another, all on foot.

At about the seventh station, it happened.

If someone had witnessed something similar, they would have said they heard a speeding car turn the corner, tearing up the pavement below. Jimmy didn't. what he heard was the approach of an armored convoy, crammed to the brim with Al Qaeda operatives.

He instinctively pulled the shotgun out of his jacket, suddenly back in the war, adrenaline pumping, his camouflaged gear stained with sweat. They came from around the hill, or in this case a building. The treads of the wheels crushing the sand beneath. A hostages bones snap under the heavy vehicle.

The truth was that a grey Oracle sedan sped around the corner, aiming directly for Pegorino. The mob capo tensed, ready for his doom. Johnny took notice of his comrade, mostly back to reality. He had finally realized he was holding a pump-action Remington shotgun in his arms, not an M-16, and he cocked it easily. The Sedan sped up, almost certainly going to hit Johnny's only lead. Johnny crouched, braced his shoulder, and leaped. Both he and his newfound ally crashed to the ground just inches from a head on collision with the car.

Johnny finally got a look at the killers. They were Triads, or Yakuza. Secretly, he hoped it was the latter.

The mob boss took cover on the ground, allowing Johnny to cover him in a defensive position, on hand held poised over his back, the other pointing the shotgun at his attackers.

It came back, Johnny pushed Leonardo to one side, and dived to the left. The Sedan swerved to avoid it, aiming its focus now on the mysterious attacker. Johnny dashed back to the pumps, standing directly between them. If they aim right, they would even hit the pumps.

The driver slammed his foot on the pedal, accelerating at terminal velocity towards its target. As his objective was, he leaped back, many feet behind the large concrete pillar, which was painted with a ring of yellow at the top. The driver realized his error, and slammed into it.

One headlight was smashed to pieces, glass littering the ground to Johnny's right, the socket hanging out like a loose bulb, the grille caved in like rumpled paper, and metal bent and shredded. An airbag went off inside, cushioning the driver, but the passenger slammed his head on the dash, and bled profusely on the side. Both were trapped by their imploded doors. They were sealed in. Johnny stepped forward.

He emptied the shells into the driver first, watching him convulse in his seat before the blood one the window obscured his view. Then, he turned his attention to the passenger, who had drawn a pistol and was aiming. Johnny moved to the door, where he couldn't aim.

_BLAM!_  
Brain matter and a spray of blood coated the seat like a thin mat of red and purple carpeting. Johnny lowered the smoking gun, the barrel still hot to the touch. He was done here.

From a few feet away, his rescued victim stood gratefully, brushing himself off as if he had total control of the situation. He looked Johnny dead in the eye, and said,

"Yeah….I think we can find something."


	4. Going to Meet Carmine

**I made a lot of mistakes in the last chapter, hope this one's better. This fiction is probably my best so far (WAAAYYY better than my Hitman crossover) and I hope I don't mess it up. I have some really good ideas for this story.**

**CLARIFICATION: Occasionally I would accidentally refer to Johnny as Jimmy or even once Dave, so please disregard this until I can repair it.**

Johnny Luke followed Leo back to Drusilla's, both of them exhausted and anxious to get back to their homes. Johnny had business to attend to, though…

"I need that work as soon as I can get it, Mr. Pegorino."

"Relax, man, we'll get to it."

Johnny didn't want to wait, but he also didn't want to push his luck, either, and remained quiet. Daylight flooded in through the windows, sweeping over the empty tables like a mother runs her hands over a newborn baby.

Leonard moved back behind a bar, and drew all of the shutters, sending the restaurant into a much darker tint. "Well…here's to our new business!" he pulled a full bottle of vodka out of the counter, and with one swig, he downed the entire thing.

He burped loudly; jerking forward as he did, then he set the bottle on the counter. "Anyway, I got this guy, name's Micky Carmine, lives over on Shinneoock Avenue, right across from where ol' Faustin used to live. I'll let him you know you're comin'. "

"What kind of work is he offering?"

"The fuck should I know?"

"Even I have my limits."

"You want what you need, whatever it is, money, cars, women, information, we can get it for you. But you have to start out at the bottom, first, just like the rest of us. Now we don't take kindly to what the other families been doin' lately, so we gotta start somewhere, and you might just be the one guy we need to pull it off."

"One man won't make a difference." He thought of his brother, hurt, beaten, lost. Tears stung his eyes, but he held them back.

The man picked up the bottle, swirling around the small amount of liquor inside. "You know what separates you from the rest?" he cocked an eyebrow. "You're cold, kid. You're cold."

Johnny didn't flinch. War was a cruel business, and killing was child's play compared to it.

"We had some guys clean up the mess you made," he continued in that authoritative manner, "you slaughtered them. Their heads looked like red rags, you couldn't distinguish what was what, and I saw you. You didn't care. You're emotions just shut off…" he held up his hand in a mock-up shape of a pistol, "Blam. Blam. You are a murderer." He drank the rest of his alcohol.

"Uhhhh…" he had trouble standing, and then dropped back into his seat, exhausted. Johnny darted his eyes to a cockroach crawling away on the floor, wondering how many health inspectors had ended up buried somewhere on a pit deep enough to be a crater.

Leonard collapsed into a chair his goon had pulled up. The obese man had a long black ponytail tied back behind his head. Dark sunglasses lay perched on the bridge of his nose, disguising his gaze. Johnny felt that the man was looking at him.

"Now go….get out before I change my mind." The man waved Johnny out the door, the bottle glinting in the sunlight as the shades were drawn back up as the restaurant opened…

Johnny had to hail a taxi from the corner and he sent him down to the house. The driver was Latino from what he could tell, and the radio was tuned to San Juan Sounds, further evidence of his background.

Bored, the driver made conversation, "So, you from around here?"

"Yeah, I was gone for a long time though." He let his eyes drift out the window, staring at the mean streets of the city.

"Well, things been changin' the last couple months."

"What do you mean?"

The man laughed, "man, how long you been gone?" After a pause, he continued, "New guy's in office by the name of Vic Mason, he's cleanin' up the streets, reinforcing banks, cracking down on crime, keeping the bad guys off the streets. I only been jacked twice this month."

Johnny gave him a hearty laugh. "I guess you sure know a lot about that, huh?"

The man gave a toothy smile. "Well….a lot of information comes from guys you peddle around Liberty."

"Really?"

"You'd be surprised to see the stuff I pick up on the way to work."

"Well….in a city like this, information is more valuable than money." He wished he had some information right now.

"Say, what's your name?"

Johnny looked at the driver, startled. "Johnny. Johnny Luke." He never told anyone his name was Jonathan any more. He hated that name.

"You seem like a nice enough fella'. Tell you what, you give me your cellular number, and I'll hand you over some information whenever you call. Plus, I can pick you up any time of the week, so long as I don't have a customer."

"Um…..okay, thanks. He handed him his number. The driver turned around to face him as they stopped at the light. My name's Rodriguez Carson, my number's 555-0023. Got that?"

Johnny finished putting it into his phone, and then he nodded. "Now I'll be your official driver, Mr. Luke. Don't trust anyone in Liberty unless they've got a cab, eh?"

Johnny smiled, wondering if he had given his number to everyone he drove, hoping to expand his business, or if he was just off his rocker.

They pulled into the small neighborhood, the large suburban homes in deep contrast to the vast skyscrapers of Liberty City. At the end of the road, the guardrail was smashed and broken, large enough for a semi to plow through. They pulled up in front of a two story house, white with brown borders. An expensive 2004 Banshee, yellow with a roof and black stripe, was left parked in the driveway, spotless and recently waxed.

Johnny stepped out of the car, paying his fare and handing Rodriguez a ten-dollar bill as a tip, being thanked personally for his donation to their little "information network".

The taxi sped off, waiting to pick up more fares, and Johnny stared at the house a moment longer, distrustful of the scene.

A familiar feeling pressed against his neck, it was the cold steel of a gun barrel. A cold voice speaking, "Don't move or you die." The voice was almost entirely Russian, with little to no trace at all of his American voice. Johnny dared not turn around to confront his attacker. Did Pegorino betray him? He cursed himself silently for not seeing through this treachery.

Johnny kept his hands above his head, showing that he was unarmed. He allowed the Russian to take the shotgun, without ever showing his face. He neglected to mention the revolver in the foot holster.

They both pressed forward, opening the stainless mahogany doors. The house was decorated with a blend of French and Italian furniture, the curtains, however, were pure Chinese silk. On the wall hung a picture of four. There was a man who was older than the others, with graying black hair that was combed forward over his head, obviously gelled. He had a beer gut and a nice suit. In his arms was a woman barely half his age. She was thin, radiant, with flowing blonde hair tied back in a ponytail.

On the far left was a lanky, gangly boy with spiked black hair, bags under his eyes, and a bored expression on his face. The final member of the family was a little girl, oddly, she had brown hair. They seemed like normal enough family.

The two killers entered the living room. On a table, there was a slip of paper, three perfect lines of cocaine sprinkled on top. There was a Glock 17 sitting right next to it, a straw lay on the floor in front. The walls were covered in paintings of the portly man on the portrait outside, in various positions. He was obviously a very vain man.

"Sit." The single word, sharp, intelligent. Johnny sat in a plush velvet chair, right beside the drugs. He felt very uneasy.

"Take it."

Johnny looked at the man, but he was covered with shadows. "What?"

"You wish to speak to Mr. Carmine, you snort."

Johnny didn't want to take drugs. He knew what they did to you. The man cocked the gun. Johnny obeyed.

He bent down, retrieving the straw, and then he let it hover over the white powder. He held his finger over one nostril, and then he sucked it in. His nose began to burn as the vile powder went up his nose.

His heart pounded in his chest, his body was tensed. One would notice his pupils dilate. Suddenly, his mind began to swim.

The Russian came out of the shadows, his face mildly revealed through the haze. He had a broad face, very defined, but in his state, Johnny couldn't make any real features out except for a chin cleft. "Don't you Americans learn anything? Never take an unchecked drug."

Johnny swayed, the realization dawning on him that it was a trap, before succumbing to the darkness.


	5. The Wine Cellar

"Uhhh…." Johnny arose from his daze slowly, groggy from the spiked drugs. His mouth felt incredibly dry, and he had to urinate like nobody's business.

"Ahhh….awake already?" the voice sounded Italian, but it held a hint of Russian within, buried. A sharp punch to the stomach nearly sent Johnny back into his unconsciousness.

"Now…..are we ready to talk?"

Johnny spat in the direction of the voice. He got another punch and a grunt of disgust for that. He felt like smiling, but he didn't.

The haze weakened. He could see the form of humans. The one in front of him was a big burly man, African American, and rather broad as well. To his left was a man in a dark green shirt, ruffled black hair, and some sort of facial hair.

In a chair on the right was the man from the painting, in a burgundy T-shirt. He looked angry. A cigarette lay burning between his fingers. As the blur went away totally, the first thing he noticed was a large splatter of spittle on his left cheek. He smiled this time.

"Well he seems fuckin' chipper. Black?"

The big black man sent another swishing punch into Johnny's stomach. He was left gasping for air, winded.

The painting man stood up and came over. He slammed his fist into the wooden chair Johnny felt himself crudely strapped to. "Now, I'm gonna ask some questions, and you're gonna answer them." Johnny nodded compliantly, recognizing the voice he had heard when he first awakened.

He turned around, gesturing for the black man to get something off of the table behind. Johnny noticed on the back of his shirt, "Bad Black" was written in capital letters, just about two zeroes. When he turned around, Johnny could see very large rings on his fingers. They obviously intended to torture him.

Frantic, but keeping his poker face on, he scanned the room. He was in a dank cellar. There were wine barrels all around him. He in fact was behind a large cluster of them, separating them from what was probably a larger tunneled out section.

There was nothing of use around except for some splinters of wood in a corner too far away from him, and on the table there was a hammer and a switchblade, both of which were guarded by his captors. He couldn't feel the pistol strap on his leg. They must have taken it.

"Now," the burgundy shirt guy said, "Let's start."

Bad Black cracked his knuckles purposely, to make sure Johnny knew what was going on. "Who…who are you working for." The man had moved behind Johnny's chair, talking more to the ceiling than Johnny.

"Nobody. I'm working for myself. Leonardo Pegorino sent me down here to get some work."

The man spun around, slapping Johnny on the back of the head. "Liar!"

"Want to hook me up to a polygraph?"

"I'm insulted." Burgundy must have nodded at BB, because next, Johnny felt his cheek split as the force of the blow knocked his head to the side. Two of his teeth became loose.

The man in the corner stood by idly, watching the display without interest, a child bored as he sat in his father's office as he worked.

"Now tell me. Who are you working for!"

"I just told you goddammit!"

Another punch.

"The truth this time!"

"I'm telling you the truth!"

"Fucking liar!"

"Look, all I came here for is to get some work, okay."

"If that's true, why come to me, huh? Why not Pegorino himself?"

"He needed a hit man, someone who could get his hands dirty…"

"And what motivated you to want work?" Burgundy flipped his ashes onto Johnny's shirt, which was now soaked with blood."

"I'm looking for someone…"

"No doubt someone within my ranks."

"What?"

"I know you're a spy."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Instead of answering, Burgundy turned to his allies, and then said wildly, pointing at Johnny, "I…I know these type. They claim to just want work, just want a little extra cash. Then they turn on ya, bring you down. Down to the knees! Their cops, or rivals, or those damn Gambetti thugs! All of em will betray you in a second!"

"I told you I don't work for anyone!" Johnny burst out. "Shut up!" Burgundy slapped Johnny against the cheek, right where he had been wounded. It smarted for a moment, and then went into a dull throb.

"If that's true, then why would you come to us? We're in bad shape, don't you think? The Gambetti's movin' in, the Triads moving out, the cops and lawyers arrest one of us every day. Our numbers are dwindling my friend, and you just picked the wrong time to join the club. Black, hit him again."

BB slammed his fist up across Johnny's jaw. His bottom lip split, and the inner mouth did as well, blood spurted up in a straight stream out of his mouth, landing back on both his shoulder and the floor. Bad Black just smiled cruelly.

"Let this serve as a reminder that anyone who wants to join our family, you must pass the initiation test." He turned and slammed his fist into Johnny's face, which began to bruise badly, especially on the right side.

"What test is that?" Johnny spat.

Burgundy turned back at him, and then screamed, "Do your fucking homework!"

Another punch. More swelling.

Burgundy turned around, exasperated. "Take care of him, Black."

BB grabbed the straps and undid them. Johnny relaxed his muscles a bit. The last strap popped off, and Johnny lunged his feet. Both of them bounced uselessly off of Black's stomach. What he had once taken for fat was actually pure muscle, and the big man tossed Johnny over his shoulder without a strain at all.

Johnny felt himself heaved over the big man's shoulder, almost helplessly. Most people, would merely bang against his back until the tired, but instead, Johnny rationally tried to search for a way to escape.

A broken spout was resting on one barrel, and with a great deal of strength, he reached out and lifted it off the faucet.

He disassembled the spout methodically, slow and precise. Once he was down to the basics, he took a bit of the piping; he put his lips over the dirty, rusted end, stuck the pipe in BB's ear, and blew as hard as he could. BB, startled, dropped Johnny to the ground. He stood, grabbing a rubber gripped hammer off of a nearby table, then he clonked BB on the head. He craned a bit, but the hammer did little but slow down the big man's advance.

Johnny turned around, moving to the nearest wine barrel. The thing had about 5/6th of the diameter of Black himself. It was also about 1.5 feet taller. It would have to serve Johnny's purposes.

With one great surge of adrenaline, Johnny raised the hammer as high as he could, spread his legs to steady it, and brought it down on the spout. Pressure did the rest.

In response to the sudden change of pressure, the entire bottom of the barrel blew out, aged wine spilling out over Black, who was close enough to Johnny now to wrap his short, muscled fingers around his neck. The water forced him onto the ground. Johnny fell too, but he caught onto a nearby pipe to keep himself from moving. BB crashed against the wall on the other side of the room.

Finally, the flow of fluid ceased almost entirely, minus a bit of wine dripping in a steady stream as it cascaded to the ground.

Black lay on the other side of the room, gagging on the wine. His face was soaked with it. The cool, hard face had now an expression of surprise on it for the first time. Johnny didn't wait for him to orient himself. As soon as Black began to regain his vision, Johnny slammed the blunt end of the hammer into his skull. A bit of skin cracked and bled after three blows, but his muscles were tough. Johnny decided to change tactics.

With a swing of the hammer, he swung the metal across the bodyguard's jaw, knocking him out cold across the floor. A splash of wine kicked up, but otherwise, everything was still again.

"What was that?" The alarmed voice of Burgundy spoke up, "Go check it out." Johnny hid behind a cluster of barrels. The man from the corner came out from behind the barrels where Johnny's torture had taken place. He was holding a sub-machine gun in his arms. What make, Johnny couldn't tell from his hiding place.

"Shit! Black's down!"

"What!"

"Stay there…"

The machine gun guy proceeded forward steadily. He bent to check Black's pulse. This was when Johnny struck.

He lunged from his hiding place, his arms crashing out, snatching the barrel of the gun, and then wrenching it up, allowing the shots the man fired in terror smash into the ceiling. Wood and concrete rained down on them.

He then slammed his elbow into the man's gut, winding him. He used this opportunity to take the gun away, turning it to use the butt as a club; he smacked it across the man's face, sending him rolling across the wet floor. He looked back up startled.

Johnny ran forward and kicked the man in the face, knocking him to the ground, unconscious as well.

"What the hell's going on out there, Henry?"

Burgundy came out of the shadows, a pistol visibly in his hand. "Henry?"

Johnny leveled the gun at the startled form, expecting to dodge and fire at a moment's notice. To his surprise, the man lowered the gun, grinning.

"Congratulations, Mr. Luke. You just passed the initiation test."

Johnny narrowed his eyes at the man. From the look of things, he was obviously paranoid. Force was the only thing he respected.

The man in the burgundy shirt spoke up again, "My name is Micky Carmine," He bowed a little, showing his respect, "and I may have a job for you."

Going to take a quick break and write a quick one-shot for a different category, then I'll be back to this one! So all you faithful readers (qwerty, :P) keep on reading!


	6. Tammy's problem

**NOOOOO!!!! I rushed the last chapter! It's turning into my Pretender/Hitman fic all over again!!! I'll try to work my way back into it, my life's been very stressful and this story just adds to it. I can't get it out of my head and it's prohibiting my original stories. Here's chapter 6. **

The Cluckin' Bell was clean, but empty. Micky Carmine sat across from him, smoking a cigar easily. Johnathon Luke was prepared to grasp for a weapon if necessary, but this guy didn't seem so bad, despite his major paranoia and his drive for blood.

They bought a bucket of popcorn chicken and munched on it occasionally, but never really felt the insatiable appetite they pretended they had.

"Work….well….everyone's looking for work….."

Johnny eyed him precariously as Micky Carmine pondered these things. It would be better to let him think about it himself, rather than be interrupted by an impatient man being interviewed for the job.

"You know something….Leo told me about a month ago that his cousin's associate, Ray Boccino, he had taken in a guy named Nicky or Nero, or something like that, really reliable guy from the Middle East. He was reliable, at least, until he ended up killing Boccino. Then, through some unforeseeable events, Jimmy ended up dead too.

"Well….I'm not into turning against my bosses."

"Neither was he."

"I'm just looking for someone. The money finances my search."

"Heh. That's a lot like what that foreigner guy had said. Guess what….boom."

"Don't worry, I'm not a squealer."

Micky gruffly laughed. That was something Johnny would remember for a long time. "There's no way I'm going to trust you fully. You put two of my guys in the hospital yesterday. You almost killed me. I think there will be jobs and perks for these jobs, but there's almost no way you'll be the apple of my eye."

"All I want is a chance."

"You got it."

"What do you need?"

It was more statement than question. Still, Johnny knew he would be rewarded for his actions. Criminals never forget who their friends are…or their enemies.

"Hang on." Micky paid the bill and they both stepped outside, getting into Micky's Banshee. It was a nice car, but Johnny wasn't impressed by flashy sports cars or big houses. He just learned a lot about a person. Elementary, my dear Watson. Elementary.

They drove for a minute before pulling into an alleyway where they couldn't be seen. A small, nervous looking man was loitering nearly fifteen feet in front of them. He noticed the car and gave a nervous, cocked wave. Micky stared balefully at the man, and then got out of the car.

Micky unlocked the doors, gesturing for Johnny to get out. He did, standing beside the car. He noticed a motion inside, and then Micky stepped out as well.

"Hey, Micky, how's it going?" The man was very short, barely five feet tall, almost diminutive compared to Johnny's 6' 2" and Micky's 6' 4".

"It's going fine, Tammy…for us…"

"Hey, now wait a minute….!"

Micky slammed him against the hood of the car. Tammy squirmed under his grip, but found no way out, settling into a more relaxed position.

Johnny looked down at the boy. He was young, late teens or early twenties, maybe. His hair was black and it jutted out at bad angles, like a very thick version of Einstein's style. He wore large square spectacles that looked more like magnifying glasses than seeing glasses. He was clean shaven and looked pretty square, legal. Nerdy was a word many would probably use to describe him.

He also looked frightened out of his mind.

"So…you think because you're a college boy you can skip your payments, huh!?"

"No…no….!" the boy stuttered terribly, blubbering his speech, scared out of his mind.

"Well, you need to understand that maybe paying your loan sharks is more important than sniffing some powder."

"What the- what are you talking about…."

"You know what I'm talking about you little worm!"

Micky threw Tammy aside; he splashed on the ground in a little mud puddle. Night had fallen; lights illuminated the scene just outside the alleyway with chilling clarity. Nobody was taking notice of the scene, and those who did took little interest in it at all. Liberty City was truly a cruel place.

After Tammy finished coughing up muck, he let his eyes flutter open, and he crawled to the side, scrabbling for safety.

Micky grabbed him, hurled him around and into the side of his car. One dent and a bloody skull later, Tammy lay dazed on the ground next to him, dazed, staring blankly at the sky, his breathing slow and deliberate. He looked dead, but Johnny knew he wasn't.

Micky cursed himself for damaging his car. It would cost time and money he didn't need to have it repaired by the Pay N' Spray down the road from his house. It would need to be repainted, the dent removed, a new coat of wax, all of it…damn.

"Take him back to his place, it's at Hepburn Heights. Call me when you get there." Micky showed him his Tinkle phone, and then let Johnny type in the number. "Okay."

"What if he wakes up?"

"Knock him back out!"

Johnny nodded. "Be sure to keep him in check, when I get paid, I'll have something else for you to do."

Johnny nodded again. "So how do I pay for food and gas."

"You're a thug; mug somebody for Christ's sake."

Johnny nodded again. "Okay, I'll be in touch."

"You better be."

Carmine started his expensive car and sped out into the street, zooming past traffic at an alarming rate. Johnny knelt down to feel for any weapons on Tammy, and found merely a Boy Scout flip knife. Oh, the irony. There was also a small plastic vial from a kid's chemistry set. Inside was an innocent looking white powder that Johnny instantly recognized as cocaine.

"Uhhhh…." Tammy groaned. Johnny shouldered him up and began to drag him out of the alleyway. He flagged down a taxi, which slid to a stop in front of him. The driver was in his forties, with graying hair parted to the side and a scar running along his chin. Johnny stepped up and opened the door.

He stooped and laid Tammy against the window, and then he got in himself shoving the man aside gently as he sat behind the driver.

"Where to?"

Johnny smiled menacingly, drawing the knife from his pocket and flipping it open. "Hepburn Heights," he said, pressing the blade against the driver's ear, "and make it free." He heard a gratifying whimper and smiled. He was beginning to enjoy this life of crime.

Hepburn Heights towered over him, the frightened cab driver having sped off in fear after Johnny and Tammy had gotten out. Tammy, the college kid under Johnny's arm, groaned again, almost like he sensed Johnny was here.

He dragged the man through the front door, struggling with his feet as he tugged and yanked. The elevator came painfully slow, but when it touched down, they herded into it with a man in a nice business suit. "Hey..uh…what room is this guy in?" Johnny asked.

The man looked down and shrugged. "Somewhere on the sixth floor."

Johnny smiled, "thanks…."

He pulled a cell phone from his pocket, dialed Micky, and let him talk, "Yeah, what is it?" he sounded agitated.

"What room is this guy in?"

"The worm stays in room F32….it's the sixth floor. Now stop wasting my time!"

Johnny hung up, and then the elevator gave a slight ping as they reached his floor.

They both trudged down the hall to F32, Tammy almost fully awake now. Johnny found a room key in the man's pocket and pushed open the door. There was a squeaking of a shower being shut off. Johnny set Tammy down on the couch in front of the television set. He was slowly arousing, but never woke up.

"Who's that?" a scared female voice spoke out from the other room. A woman slowly inched around the corner. She had deep Auburn hair, freckles on her face, and an almost anorexic form. Around her head was wrapped a towel to help her hair dry. She was wrapped in a tie-dye silk bath robe. It was very thin and Johnny could see her nipples through the torso covering. She looked scared, but once she saw Johnny, she eased only slightly. "Who are you?"

"Johnny Luke, Tammy here got a little banged up."

"Oh….again with this Pegorino stuff…its okay, I'll take care of him. I appreciate you dropping him off."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Maura Clarence, that guy's Tammy Benson. I'm his…uh….girl."

"Oh…well do you think everything'll be okay?"

"Yeah…this happened last week, only worse. He came home with a knife wound. I swear we already paid Micky twice, except he keeps coming back for more. God, I hope he goes away."

"Well…you know what…call me later, I can help out with Tammy's little mess."

"Really, why would you do that?"

"You made an impression on me." He fibbed, disguising the fact that when Tammy was done with his fine, he was a step closer to his brother.

"Okay, our number is 555-9707, and my cell is 555-4434. Tammy's cell phone doesn't work and he pretty much stays home anyway. Please call when you want to help out." She flashed her bare leg at him purposely. Johnny vaguely was reminded of the strip club where he had killed the manager in response to his rampage and information trek.

"I'll be sure to do that soon."

He left the apartment, watching without interest as Maura bent over to examine Tammy's head wound.

He got a call when he was halfway out the door. "Hello?"

"Hey, man, it's Leo. How'd it go with Micky?"

"Guy's really paranoid. He only understands force and violence. He's been at it too long, lost sight of his goals. He's a pretty bad liability."

"Yeah, but he serves his purposes."

"Yeah….well…I'll be in touch."

"Ciao."

He hung up.


	7. Rose

"Hello?"

Johnny got a call the next day from Tammy, the phone had gone off as he boarded the bus from his apartment to the car dealership. He planned to buy a used car with the money he had gotten from Carmine's assignment. Despite his words, he still sent Johnny a few thousand dollars to get started.

"Hey!" the voice of Tammy came through, alive and vibrant, as opposed to the scared little kid he had met yesterday.

"This is Johnny."

"Man, I really wanna thank you for this thing you're doing. It's really helpin' out."

"…"

"So, anyways….I was wondering if you could come over and, uh, help out with a couple of things, you know, get me started."

"Alright, I'll be there."

"Thanks…really."

"No problem…"

Johnny hung up the phone and waited. This bus wasn't going anywhere near Hepburn Heights. He stood in the aisle and walked to the driver. "Hey, uh, which bus would let off near Hepburn Heights?"

The man looked up quietly, a soft-spoken man of thirty. "You'll need to board bus 01-97. Its first stop is the Heights. You can get off at the station if you can wait about an hour."

"Fine…."

The man gave Johnny a well-meant smile before he returned to his driving. Some people from the nearby office building got on the bus. Johnny sat and waited.

At one stop, he noticed someone get on the bus that…changed him….

She looked normal enough; she wore an overcoat of a fairly expensive green suit. She had sparkling emerald eyes, silky brunette hair. Her skin was virtually flawless, minus a small cut just at the hairline. To Johnny, she was perfect.

She caught sight of him staring at her, and looked directly at him. She smiled a bit. "Is this the part where you come up with a pick-up line?"

"I don't know…never tried it before."

"Now would be a good time to start."

She wore no makeup, had no jewelry. She was plain.

"Uh….I feel compelled to sit down the aisle from you because we're destined to sit together?"

She gave an uneasy laugh. "Yeah, okay, maybe you should work on that."

"Aren't you worried talking to someone you don't even know?"

She shook her head, "You don't look that bad, come on."

"Yeah…well." He stared at his feet, letting himself smile just a little under the evil that he held within his soul.

"You really don't how to ask a girl out, do you?"

"What ever gave you that idea?"

"I saw how you were looking at me. I've seen it many times on buses. Some guy gives a girl that look, gives her a line, then persists until she leaves or accepts his offer."

Johnny beat around his own thoughts. He noticed she had a good figure as well. It seemed as if he was drinking in everything about her like a well aged wine. _Not the wine Bad Black was choking on…_

As if coming back to reality, he looked up at her and said, "So…….if you really noticed I was looking at you, why tell me?"

"Ahhh….I like to see what they have before they work things out in their minds. It shows a lot about a guy's character."

"So what do you see in me?"

"A really nervous, scared little boy in a scarred, weathered body."

Johnny wanted to cringe. What the hell? He wasn't scared of anything. War….it had changed him. Fear had left him with the rest of his squadron in Iraq.

"Um….okay."

"What about me?"

"You? I see a very confusing woman who's trying her best not to laugh at me."

She laughed a little. "You know what; I think maybe I'll give it a shot."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say I had a bad experience and that maybe I haven't seen anyone for a while and people tease me for it."

"Well, then maybe we should stop that teasing here."

"I agree." She wrote on a slip of paper the number 555-2124, her cell phone number. "Call me, say, Saturday, we'll set something up."

"Okay. I'll call, what's your name?"

"Rose, Rose Callaghan."

"I'm Johnathon Luke, nice to meet you." _Did I just use my full first name?_

"Okay, it's good to meet you." The bus came to a stop. "Wow, that was a quick forty five minutes, this is my stop. Bye, Johnathon. It's good to meet you."

"Bye…." Johnny couldn't help but watch her leave out the door.

About ten minutes later, having programmed the number into his phone and remembering deal he had made with Tammy, he became frightened.

He had been weak, let his guard down to some woman he didn't even know. He had become a tool, played with and manipulated. It scared him. His cold, hard demeanor had left him, replaced by warmth and compassion. Something was seriously wrong with it because he knew if he ever did that again, he could be killed….easily.

He felt like deleting the number and forgetting all about Rose Callaghan, but something inside him told him not to. A deep voice he had very seldom listened to because it was helpless and obsolete. Irrationality controlled it and in turn, stupidity controlled him. That voice was what Rose had described as "a scared little boy."

It was the voice of Johnathon Luke, the kid from Liberty who grew up with his brother, who had girlfriends in high school, who did his homework, who voted, who loved and grew and dreamed and lived.

All before the war had taken him, and turned him into just plain Johnny. He liked it that way. He saw truth in everything and he never overlooked the possibilities. He was a cool, calculative machine. He knew how to get to people and how to hurt them. He was a creature of death, a machine of war.

Life had been cruel, and war was even crueler. In Liberty City, these things became necessary to survival. Johnny planned to use them. Rose Callaghan was the only obstacle.

**Why? Not sure, just felt like giving Johnny a different side, show how life had changed him. R&R on this, maybe I'll change it. Not sure if I should do it or not.**


	8. Fixing Tammy's Problem

Hepburn Heights was again looming over the streets as Johnny Luke stepped up to the apartment building. Time was short; he had stalled too long on the buses. He took the elevator to the sixth floor for the second time that day, this time later at night, about 6:00. Today was Sunday, January 25, 2009.

Room F32 stood at the end of the hall, like a grim reminder of the life Johnny had chosen to live. The door opened, and Tammy motioned him inward.

Johnny hesitated, and then he strode forward and into the apartment. There was no turning back now.

The room was naturally dark. The shades were drawn, only a small fence of sunlight played on the floor, dancing sardonically across the floor.

Tammy was sitting on his couch, his arms upwards and bent. Johnny could see the reflection in the mirror. Tammy snorted a spoonful of cocaine, dropped onto a baby spoon to allow more moderation.

"Fuck, man…."

Johnny nodded, "That stuff can really mess with you…" Johnny had a brief flashback to smoking pot in high school, his first non-violent flashback since Iraq.

"Ah, well. My life's gone to hell anyway."

"Really?" he said sarcastically.

"Yeah…..I'm in debt, man. Bad. That bastard thinks that I owe him more than I do. Interest and all. I paid him twice, and he's still coming up with saying I gave him nothin'."

"Maybe you should have taken a bank loan."

"Why? What would they do?"

"They've got some new law saying you can take out a loan, even if you can't pay it back."

"Yeah, well I'm better workin' with the illegal kinds of loan sharks." _Snort!_

"That's why I'm here."

"Wouldn't have called if I hadn't needed some help."

"What's up?"

He turned around scanning the room. No sign of Maura. He bent forward. Johnny crouched to hear.

"Look man," he whispered, "I'm in some serious shit."

"What kind?"

"Horse shit. Really, fuckin' deep."

"What's going on?"

"It's Carmine, man….and the money. You see, I have had the money to pay him back…twice. It's the damn powder. I can't stop, can't get off the stuff. I got money for college tuition, this guy gave me some crack, I was hooked almost immediately. It was hell, I tried to quit, it never worked. I gotta stop this stuff. I have to, or else I'm gonna start doing other drugs, other things, things a helluva lot worse than cocaine."

"Okay, so where do I come in?"

"You have to find my dealers, cut me off of this shit. Now, before Maura finds out I ain't got the money she thought I had."

"Okay, where are they?"

"There's one over in Meadows Park, hangs around in the bathrooms. There's another guy in the parking lot of Francis International Airport. Last guy lives in the third apartment complex San Quentin Avenue. Third Floor, room 22. You have to find them and cut them off."

"Okay," Johnny stood up and began to leave, heading for the door with a purposeful step, before Tammy said anything, "Wait….take that box on the table, you'll need it."

Johnny looked at the brown UPS box, Tammy still turned towards the blackened TV screen but no longer taking his drugs.

"Take care of business," Johnny nodded. He left.

As he descended the stairs, he tore open the packaging quickly, ripping it to shreds. Inside was a sealed plastic bag. He pulled out the weapon inside. He pulled out a Beretta 9mm, with two fully loaded clips.

He was armed and loaded, and he was getting ready to leave when he noticed a car stop at the light. Why his eyes drifted to it he will never know, but the green Futo hatchback nevertheless caught his attention, and he planned to work with it the best he could.

He approached the driver side door and slung it open, dragging the man inside out. He was middle-aged and had a beer gut. His glasses were cracked from the fall, and he was horrified. Johnny shoved the gun in his face. "Don't try to stop me." The man saw something in Johnny's eyes because he turned and scrabbled away towards the sidewalk, hurrying to escape the monster behind. Johnny just frowned and sat in the driver seat of the car.

As he drove, he only briefly glimpsed at the mortified man he left groveling on the pavement behind. No big deal, carjacking was. Pull him out, get back in, shake off the cops. It was simple. Johnny actually found it efficient. He found that whatever he wanted he could get with a little force, and morality was petty and worthless. Life was sweet, and this job was going to get hairy. Johnny checked that there was a clip in the gun. He had at least three loaded, and in case it got bad, he had the pocket knife as well.

It was time to take a stand, for his brother, for his past, for everything. He wasn't going to let this get away from him, not this time. He was going to finish this job, at any costs.

Meadows Park was pretty, if you liked to see trees directly next to industrial sized apartment buildings. Johnny always wondered why Man insisted on expanding their reaches, and then suddenly realizing Mother Nature existed, tried to cram a couple of trees into a small square in the center of the largest city in Liberty State.

At the time, such thoughts were irrelevant, as he had business to attend. The Men's bathroom door looked dirty and splintered, unkempt over the years. He pushed it open, his hand in the gun, angled slightly in case he needed to shoot someone.

A man stood in the bathroom, a ski cap snugly fit over his head. Dollar bills were tucked away neatly in behind his ear. The room was empty, save for an older man on the john behind the nearest stall door.

"There somethin' I can help you wit?

"Yeah, you know Tammy Benson? He want his stuff cut off, stopped. He wants the entire thing shut down between you and him."

"Shit, he was one of my best custamuhs."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Well you tell Tammy to say hi to the nice looking woman in the silk."

"Will do."

The first deal went off without a hitch.

The roaring of jets rang in his ears as Johnny pulled up in the parking lot of Francis International Airport. The man ahead was dressed like a baggy slum kid, his boxers were visible above his sagging jeans, and his shirt was too large for him. There was a sweatband around his head. He had a pistol tucked in the side pocket of his jeans, Johnny could tell from the irregular bulge in them. He must be the second dealer.

Johnny stepped out of the car. The sky was clouding up. It would probably rain later that day. The man turned to face him. Two other were loitering around him, one casually smoking a cigarette, the other drinking an unlabeled bottle of beer, enclosed in a paper bag.

"Hey!"

"What the fuck you want, punk?" The men began to circle him.

"Do you know a Tammy Benson?"

"Depends who's askin'."

"He wants his deals cut off, nothing more."

"Well….that's gonna be a real problem then. You see, I don't like when guys start trying to run be outta business. It's bad for my image. Now me and my boys here….we gonna fuck you up real bad. And you can tell goody two shoes to go fuck himself…hehe…get him…"

They descended upon him.

Ten minutes later, just outside of the apartment complex, Johnny was wiping his opponent's bloodstains from his face with a dry rag. He was growing weary of fighting. He still remembered the broken bodies of the men he left behind, much like the ones he had seen on the side of the road in Iraq, just different in methods. He had wasted one shot taking out one man's leg, leaving him with only fourteen shots left in the current clip. He would have to be ready for this next one.

He opened the door to room 22 on the third floor just four minutes later and dealed with the man, who had a woman dancing in a tight, leather suit, swinging around the pole, slapping him occasionally with a whip. "Hello, we need to talk."

This deal also went off with very little problems, just an ornery hooker getting angry at the intrusion. Otherwise, the job was done.

All Tammy had to do was come up with some money.


	9. Pawn Shop Persuasion

**This is more or less a filler chapter, so don't expect much, I have now a bad case of writer's block. :)**

Johnny and Tammy were standing in the doorway, not speaking often for Maura was humming elsewhere in the apartment, and Tammy didn't want her to hear. "Okay, what's up?" Tammy asked.

"I'm done; the dealers are off your back."

"You left them alive, right?"

"One killed, along with two of his friends."

"Shhhhiiit."

"Look, I want to help, but I don't have all the time in the world, so what do you need?"

Tammy moved closer, "I owe Carmine roughly 1500 dollars. I got a 1200 dollar loan for college tuition, but with the way things are going, I'm going to need a whole lot more. I've saved up about one hundred so far. Plus, I have a plan, but it's not very good."

"Shoot."

Tammy pulled a small diamond ring out of his pocket, the small stone glinting in the lights.

"I want you to sell this. There's a pawn shop down the street, but that rat won't give me more than 80 bucks for it. I need more. Please, you can do this. Persuade him somehow to give more; I don't care how, just do it."

"Okay," he deposited the ring into his pocket, and then turned to leave.

"Johnny!"

He stopped suddenly, and turned around. Tammy spoke, "Thanks….for everything."

"No problem, I need this too." Tammy nodded, and Johnny left for the final time that day.

The pawn shop was half-empty and run-down. It looked unkempt and worthless. A few things were visible in the windows: some old pots, a few switchblades he was certain were illegal, and various knick-knacks he found not in the slightest bit interesting.

He walked in and found an old man wiping off a painting of Elvis Presley, almost oblivious to everything other than the painting.

"Hello," Johnny greeted him.

"Hi."

Johnny slid the ring from his pocket, "I'm looking for someone to buy this ring off of me. I heard you could give me a fair price?"

"Sure…" he studied it. "Uh….how's a hundred sound?"

"I think we can go higher."

"125?"

"More."

"Sorry, but 125 is as high as I go." Johnny responded by grabbing the old man and twisting his arm, retrieving a howl of pain from him. "Oh Jesus! TWO! TWO HUNDRED!"

Johnny didn't take. "Five."

"Hell no…"

Johnny put pressure on his elbow, he yelped. "Okay, 330! Final offer!"

"Fuck that, I want four." He snapped the arm back, almost fracturing it.

"Okay, just stop! I'll do it….just….please…"

Johnny released him and he dropped to the table. His arm was weak and shaky, and it looked pained as he drew the money from the register. "H…he…here…"

Johnny left the ring on the counter, and then he prepared to escape the shop. He stopped for a moment and pulled a switchblade from the wall, "Mind?"

"No…not at all…"

Johnny left.

He drove away in silence, realizing he needed to change vehicles; he parked, stepped out, and walked down a full block of cars. He found a black Sultan and tried the handle. The door was locked. Johnny took off his shirt and wrapped it around his hand. He busted the window and unlocked the door. He was lucky he didn't need to disable the alarm: it never went off. With the end of the pocket knife, he turned the key as he reattached the wires, hotwiring the car within two minutes.

He drove a mile, stopped at gas station, where he switched license plates with a Silver Steel Habanero SUV, and then drove on. He picked the phone and dialed Tammy's number. "It's finished. We have merely a thousand left to get."

"Really? Aw man, you're a lifesaver. Doing this, we'll be done in no time!"

"Good to hear."

"Come by my place tomorrow and we'll talk."

"Okay." Johnny hung up and headed home to his own home.


	10. Odd Jobs

**ANOTHER FILLER! Wrote it in about twenty minutes.**

The apartment smelled pretty musty to the outside observer, but to Johnny, it was just a faint odor with no pertinence. He entered quietly, oblivious to any senses but sight as of now. Tammy was gone, but there were strange sounds coming from behind another door.

He walked up, put his ear to it, and her many different sounds. The low, tired pant of a young man, and the pleasured moans of a woman at her climax. She gave a final cry of upheaval, and they both settled to mere panting. There was a thick padding of bare feet on the floor, a stop, and more padding as someone approached the door.

Tammy opened the door quickly, almost startled to see Johnny there. Behind, Maura lay half-covered with sheets, heaving and panting like a tired dog.

Tammy frowned, shutting the door. "You came a little early, gotta keep the woman happy."

Johnny didn't honestly want to talk about that. It was fairly early in the morning, and Johnny hadn't even changed clothes since the night before.

Tammy had slipped on a pair of red boxers before Johnny had spoken to him, and now they were sitting at his kitchen table. "Okay, then. Now, I don't suppose we could get any of that money, now?"

Johnny put it on the table, "Here it is. Four hundred to your five."

"Okay, that leaves 1k left to acquire. How should we go about doing that?"

"For one, let's sell all of your drugs."

"Really? There's nothing left. I got rid of it all. I told you I was trying to quit."

"Then we need something else to do."

"You know…I hear that these, uh, these restaurants like Cluckin' Bell and Burger Shot get a good bit of money, right….so, why don't we try rippin' em' off?"

"I thought you didn't want illegal."

"Not….originally, but hell, I am…was…on all kinds of illegal drugs, so what's a few more felonies."

"So we're going to go to them and rob them?"

"Me? No…that's what you do. I sit here and pleasure my lady."

Johnny could hear Maura sleeping soundly in the next room, "Get the restaurants and rob them, got it."

He walked out the door.

Burger Shot, the largest fast food chain in the world and home to Johnny's favorite burger. Robbing the place would be hard anywhere but Liberty. Johnny checked the clip in his gun. One shot down, fourteen left. Plenty for this simple job.

Johnny stood up and walked in. The restaurant was fairly empty, save for a few hungry patrons seeking an early morning snack. Three, he counted, along with one in the restroom.

He walked to the counter, a young, blonde teen with freckles on her face asked him as he approached, "Ma' hep ya sir?" her accent was distinctly southern, but WAY far south, maybe Texas. Johnny nodded. "Yes," he pointed the gun at her, "I want all the money in the register, and if I catch you moving for the alarm, I'll kill you."

Her face drained of color. "My god…." She motioned the manager forward, an enormous man who looked fresh out of his twenties. He opened it for her, and she began shoving money into a Burger Shot take-out bag. "OHHHHHH God."

Johnny gestured with the gun, hurrying her movements. She looked absolutely pale. When she was done, Johnny tapped the counter and, reaching over, he smashed the butt of the weapon against her head, she stumbled back, a trickling bit of blood descending from her skull, before fainting. Johnny dashed out the back and got into his car. He drove on, away from the restaurant.

"I got three Burger Shots and A Cluckin' Bell. Raised about four hundred and twenty dollars."

"Alright….that's great. Now, we need some other way to get cash, you know…I heard that that car you've got is worth a lot of money. Mind visiting a friend of mine? I don't know directions, but I can plug it in your GPS. He works at the Pay N' Spray in east Holland. Go check him out."

Johnny went.

"Hello, my name's Doe, as in Jack Doe."

The man was tall and muscular. He was African American and looked like at least a little bit South American. "What, no John?"

"Haha…..real funny. I know why you're here, where's the car?"

"I parked it in the garage."

"Cool. I checked it out, looks clean, but there's a taillight out. I hear Tammy was in some financial trouble. So here's the deal, I'll send him about…oh, say, 600, maybe. That ought to shut him up. Plus, I'll let you in on something good."

"What?"

"Well, I heard the Forellis are looking for some extra cars, and that they've got chop shops running all over the city. I'll draw a map for you, but I like business, so as much as you can, bring em' here. I can fix em' up and sell them at twice the price. Pretty good deals for me."

"Really….okay…I'll think about that."

"Stay cool, man."

"You too."

"I've got it man! Got it! All the cash I needed to get out, and all thanks to you, man. You're the best."

"No problem, that's all I needed. Now, I'll set up the deal with Carmine."

Johnny left to do it.


	11. Drop Off

**Well……I have just decided that after I finish this….and maybe a Resident Evil fic…I'm going to write a novel. God know how many times I've tried, but never accomplished anything. After a few more chapters, I'll do some research, and when I'm done, I'm going to do it. I swear I will. I'm not going to let myself get distracted by this thing.**

**Anyway, too much Author's space, here's the story:**

"What!? What is it!?"

"Tammy came up with the money, Mr. Carmine. He's ready to make a deal."

"What? Wait-that little rat bastard actually did it?"

"Yes…he had a problem with drugs; I got him over it and helped him raise the money. He owed you fifteen hundred dollars, and you promised not to charge interest."

"Yes, but I DO have late fees…so that little fu-"

"Micky," he said with bold audacity, "He owes you that much and he has the ability to transfer to other cities. I would take what you can get."

Silence.

Slowly, like a drooling baby taking its first words in anticipating stride, Micky returned, "Fine, leave the money at the front of the Burger Shot in Alderney. I'll have a man pick it up."

"Okay. Time?"

"Now."

The Burger Shot he had robbed nearly eight hours earlier stood in front of him like a silent, grim reminder. It was surprisingly quiet. Johnny had parked across the street in a taxi he had stolen. In the back was the money, packed into a duffel bag. It was moderately heavy, crammed with ones, fives, and tens. Untraceable.

There was little he could do to scout the area around the joint. A man in a large brimmed hat sat in the car behind the restaurant, seemingly asleep. Johnny had disregarded him, but now the image flashed through his brain.

"I don't like this." His voice startled him, much louder in his mind than it actually was. He stepped out of the car, the money slung over his back. He walked forward. Taking a glance over his shoulder and seeing no one, he dropped the money in front of the door and returned quickly to his car. He drove around the block twice, and then stole a red Presidente, riding around to the front. The man he recognized retrieving the bag was Bad Black, with a large piece of gauze crudely taped to his forehead and a large bruise on his jaw. This gave Johnny an ironic smile.

He walked back into the restaurant, and Johnny saw him go out the side door. He got in a car the pulled up, a brown Buccaneer. Inside was a man Johnny didn't know, and didn't care to know, either. He looked unassuming and lazy. He seemed half asleep as he drove. Johnny watched them depart. He was finished with the job. The drop completed, he phoned Tammy.

"It's done, your debts paid."

"Oh God, THANK you…"

"No, it's okay. I needed to get your money paid anyway."

"I'll pay you back, too, as soon as I get it."

"No big deal."

"Alright dude, keep in touch."

As soon as he hung up, it rang again.

"Heeeeyyyy….Johnny….how are things?"

"As always, Micky. Your boys still hurt?"

"Black has been out of the hospital already. Henry received a broken nose, cheek, and he was diagnosed with amnesia. That was damn good work you did in my cellar."

_So that was in your house…._ "Don't get worked up. Did you get the money?"

"Black just called. It seems you are worth some type of salt."

"Yes, now what about our deal?"

"Yes…yes…."there was a rifling of papers on the other end. "Come in tomorrow, I'll have something for you. Okay? Arriverderci, friend."

"Goodbye."

He hung up on Carmine, driving off to his apartment, finally finished with Tammy and his problematic drug addiction.

He was one step closer to his brother.


	12. Life of the Party

**I may have to cut this chapter short because of storms. Take a quick look!**

"Luke…..it's a pleasure."

"The pleasure's all mine." Johnny Luke stood near Micky Carmine in the tiny cramped office that could be an upstairs bedroom. It was cluttered badly, and needed desperate reorganization.

"Let's talk in the kitchen."

They went, and Micky restarted his conversation, "So, I hear you want to be a hitman? You think your conscience can handle it?"

"Yes…." He had a glimpse of a turbaned head jerk back from the impact of a sniper's bullet. "I can."

"Yeah, yeah. I hear that a lot. Let's see if you can go through with it. I have a guy, real pain in the ass. He works as a golf instructor at a country club outside of town and the roof of his building has been converted into his personal golf course. You see, we funded that little home away from home. He didn't pay us, and we want him dead."

"Method of infiltration?"

"Woah-ho! That was technical." His face darkened, serious now, "He's having a party at his flat in Algonquin, I left a map in the car."

"Got it."

"There's more. This guy is a real playboy, got women, cars, and a whole lot of money. He doesn't just let anyone in the party, you have to be VIP. We set you up as a business partner of an interested golf team. Out in my driveway, where my car was, I parked a car, inside is a tuxedo. Put it on and head over there. It shouldn't take long to gain his trust. I got it in twenty minutes, and he knew I was a criminal."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Act official, we don't want him to turn you away. Be careful, and make sure to leave all weapons in the trunk, he has metal detectors."

"Okay. This will be tough, but not impossible. I'll be done tonight."

He walked around back.

He was stunned to see the car. It was a 2008 black Grotti Turismo, sleek, clean, and freshly waxed. He opened the door. The seats were leather, and he felt his skin stick as his bare hand touched it. There was a tuxedo in a cleaner's bag slung over the seat. On the chair was an invitation that was labeled Tuesday, January 27, 2009, 7:00 P.M.

He knew to be ready. That night, he slept in his apartment, the invitation on his end table as a reminder of Tuesday's event. His first true murder outside of war, he had to be ready.

He slept surprisingly sound.

The next day, he went through the regular routines like every day. He shaved, showered, ate a bowl of corn flakes (he hated them, but found them to be a good source of nutrition), brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and dressed. Today was a big day.

For the most part he did little, except for sit around and watch TV, killing time as his hour drew closer and closer. The ticking of the clock only irritated him, as it mocked him with the slow, deliberate _TICK! TICK! TICK_! began.

3 passed, as did four, and finally five came around. Johnny changed into the tuxedo, which, despite a small variation in pant length, was perfect. He snatched his watch off the table, and, just to be cautious, picked up a pistol to put in the car. Prepared as he was, he felt mortified by his next act.

_Today, I'm going to kill someone._ He gave it little to no thought at all.

The apartment complex was ablaze with lights and bodyguards, both about equaling each other. Johnny showed them his pass and they allowed him entry. He began to search the room for a man. Immediately, he found him. He was thin, with combed brown hair and a recent shave. Johnny knew him as Huss Lorsmith, head of SecuriTech. "Hello…" he greeted.

"Hi, um, do I know you?"

Johnny answered, playing up the drama, "No, but you should. My name is Carth Malege, I'm a golfing sports scout, and I've been interested in you for some time now."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, it baffled me how one in the security business could be so good at golf."

"Must have goo aim," a slap on the back. Johnny faked a smile.

"May be talk in, um, private?"

"Why sure, follow me."

Johnny and Huss pushed through the crowd, the smell of alcohol and tobacco managed to reach Johnny's lungs. They both ascended a flight of stairs until the reached the roof. A large golf course had been set up.

"Away from home…all I can do is putt….I still have all of my old clubs in the same bag." He looked hazy, far off. He pulled a metal putter from his bag. "mind playing a few rounds?"

"Not at all….in fact, I'd be delighted."

Johnny picked the bluntest, but most damaging weapon he could from the bag. "Hey, if you hit the ball with that, you won't be doing any favors for anyone. Might kill someone."

"That's what I plan, Mr. Lorsmith."

The man looked confused and scared, all the way up until Johnny brought the club upon his head. Blood splashed across the tuxedo as Johnny hit again…and again, a rapid succession of blows that pounding the screaming man to a bloody pulp. When he was done, a fresh coat of blood laid spread across Johnny's suit.

He removed the jacket, leaving an only partly stained shirt. Deciding it showed up too much, he put the coat back on. He looked down on his handiwork. Neither the victim nor the weapon was in very good shape. Both were bent in many seriously awkward directions.

Johnny straightened his tie and headed for the restroom. Using the crowd as cover, he grabbed a salt shaker from a nearby shelf. Using a wine glass, he filled it up to the 3/4ths mark, and then dumped the salt inside. He felt a very quick gagging sensation and swiftly vomited all over his clothes. Good enough. He dumped the glass and walked back into the lobby, faking a drunken stupor. A nice woman led him out and offered to drive him. Johnny pretended to call a nonexistent cousin but as soon as she left he got in the car and drove away. The first job was done for Micky. His trust was being earned.

The soft hum of his phone went off as he changed back into the green shirt and jeans at the stop light. He answered, "Hello?"

"Is the man dead, yet?"

"Mission accomplished, Mr. Carmine. I found it very easy."

"Good….good….I have nothing else for you, but I'll call when it comes up."

"Okay, thank you."

"Don't mess this up!"

_Click!_

Almost on cue, it rang again. He checked the ID, surprisingly, he noticed it was Maura. He answered. "Hello?"

"Johnny? Hey, we need you to see something over here, right now, before Ta-.. Five o' clock."

"What about?"

"Shit, gotta go."

Suspicions aroused, Johnny swung around and drove towards Tammy and Maura's place.


	13. Maura's Invitation

**Well….I don't think this chapter is exactly PG-13, so if anyone reading is uncomfortable with "adult themes", you may want to leave. (Don't worry, it's not that bad.)**

He stood just outside Tammy's apartment, weapon at the ready. If something was wrong, he had to be ready. Barrel toward the room, he cautiously eased open the door. There was nobody around. "Tammy! Maura!" his calls went unanswered. Instead, a shrill, deep purring erupted from another room. Johnny inched towards it, sweeping the room with his gun. He approached the white wooden door.

"Maura?" he whispered rather loudly.

"Mmmmm….in here, darling." Johnny pushed open the door and found Maura lying on the bed, clad in her silk bathrobe. Her legs were pressed together, and her arms lay poised behind her head in a gesture of seduction. "Hello, Johnny."

Johnny lowered the weapon slowly. "You called me, what's wrong?"

"Everything….mmmm…."

She may have been drunk, but from his vantage point, he couldn't tell. "Look, Miss Clarence-"

"Call me Maura."

"Okay, Maura, if there isn't a real problem, you shouldn't give me a false alarm."

"Oh, but there is…" she sat up on her knees, her breasts swinging invitingly to the side, almost fully outside of the silk robe. "I need a favor from you."

"What is that?"

She lay back on the bed, her arms at a length from her body, relaxed by her side. She did something Johnny almost knew she would do. She spread her legs, allowing him to see all. Her genitals poked out from the silk darkness like a scummy prostitute's, well-worked over for cash and no longer restricted to men they loved.

"Pleasure me."

"What?"

"You heard me, fuck me like a nasty little bitch."

Johnny swallowed hard, feeling the cold lump go down his throat. He let his emotions ice over, and he became once again a stone statue in the face of amorality. "No."

She returned to her sitting position, slowly crawling toward him on her knees. "Aw, come on…you know you want to…" she let her fingers playfully tickle his crotch. He grasped her hand and tossed her violently on the bed. "I said…no."

"You little fag. You need to see the light. Where else are you going to find action like this?" She laid back again, this time more angrily, her left hand by her head in a gesture of frustration. "Fuck it. I need a man to show me a good time, I mean, Tammy needs to bulk up, he has such a small-"

_BLAM!_

Suddenly, Maura jerked back on the bed, her body kicking for a moment before laying still. There was a neat red hole in her head, the open window causing the blood to fleck across her forehead and the blue tie-dye robe. Of all the positions she had assumed, this was the most awkward. Johnny was startled and dared not turn to face his attacker.

But, the intruder only stepped beside him, but just out of sight. Johnny recognized the voice as Tammy's, "Little slut, I knew she was banging other men, just had no proof. Now I do."

Johnny let his eyes wander to the pistol Tammy held in his hand, aimed precariously at her forehead. He was trembling. "Oh, God, this was the first time I've killed someone." He shuddered, "It feels so wrong."

He swayed a bit, and had to steady himself he held the door frame. "You know, if you ever touched her, I probably would have killed you too. Oh, God…" Tammy swooned a bit, and became jittery. "I can't do it…I can't….Johnny, you have to get rid of the body. Please, for me." Johnny turned to face him. He never felt this way about killing. It was a thing in passing, like seeing a car passing by on the road. Of course, it was under different circumstances as well.

"Okay, but don't expect me to help you out if the police catch you."

He gave Johnny an uneasy smile, "I wouldn't. Help me get her outside." They each took a side of her body, Tammy the legs, Johnny the arms. Her long auburn hair fell in waves over his arms. Little streaks of blood dotted it as well. Johnny and Tammy worked their way outside, the woman's body banging across the walls. They finally made it into the hall, but decided to use the fire escape to get her out. They set her against the wall, and Johnny pushed open the window. He stepped out first, and Tammy pushed him the arms. For some reason, he felt that Tammy was very protective of her lower body.

Below, there was a dark green Fortune, a car that belonged to one of the residents. They heaved her body and Tammy, against Johnny's wishes, refused to toss her over the side and get her when the dropped. Instead, they carefully handled her to the bottom, carefully distributing her in a dumpster. The both dropped to street level. So far, no pedestrians had noticed.

"Okay, it's done," Tammy huffed.

"No," Johnny said, "it isn't. Unless you plan on letting the garbage man report a body, you need to drop her in the river. They almost never check it when they wash up, it looks like a mob murder. No investigation, too little evidence. Trust me, there is too much crime in this city for anything to be properly looked into."

Tammy shuddered again, "Okay, let's get her in the trunk." Johnny sat in the passenger seat and hotwired the car. It took no time at all and he popped the trunk with a button found on the dashboard.

They both returned to the dumpster, retrieving the body under their previous positions. It had been defiled with the garbage, banana peels and old candy wrappers were trapped in the hem of her robe. Her left breast hung out wilted. Johnny noticed without emotion a scar under the rim of her breast, evidence of implants.

After seconds of thrusting and pulling, they managed to drop her lifeless carcass in the trunk. Tammy took a long look at her, nostalgic in his gaze. Finally, he turned away, leaving Johnny to shut the trunk. "I'll take care of it, you clean the room and get rid of the gun." Tammy nodded. Johnny got in the car and drove away.

The beach was secluded, quiet, and one of the last deposits of sand since the city had changed from city to sprawling metropolis. He had driven her from the road, passing a janitor on the way. He took no notice, and Johnny had stopped just short of the bay. Nobody was around, so Johnny opened the driver door, and with all his strength began to shove it into the river. It took nearly six minutes, but he finally made it. He would have parked closer, but the sand bank would have caused him to get stuck in a rut.

He finally finished and turned left, running at full speed to the nearby park. He had to escape before someone noticed he was there. Johnny noticed a jogging couple run by and Rose sprang to his mind. Out of nowhere, he pictured her body trapped in the trunk, a bloody overcoat, ruffled brown hair, a mouth gaped open in surprise. He suddenly began to understand Tammy's feelings. He shrugged it off as a moment of weakness, this time refusing to fear it, but refusing to acknowledge it as well.

He slowed to a jog and he could feel his shirt begin to fill with perspiration. He was out of the mess so far. Now to call Tammy and check if everything was okay.

It rang twice before he picked it up. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, Tammy, it's fine. She's gone."

"Fuck…you know I wanted to marry that girl?"

"No. Probably wouldn't last, though. "

"Yeah, the whore's husband, what a sight."

"Really, that's a little far."

"Far? Far is killing your girlfriend right before she has sex with your best friend."

_Best friend, huh?_ "Look, Tammy, you'll be fine. There are plenty of fish in the sea and not all of them are as free-spirited as Maura."

"Yeah…but still…Maura Benson had a nice ring to it you know, like how some calls cereal Fruit Loops instead of Artificial Fruit Flavored Cereal. She was gonna be my woman, man. I…I just wanted to be happy."

"What's not to be happy for?"

"Well….look, I'm failing college. I can't understand this calculus mumbo-jumbo, and I don't get physics for shit. I just feel like my life's crashing down around me and Maura would be the only one to pick up the pieces."

"Try picking up your own pieces, it'll make you strong enough to keep them together." Johnny remembered the words of his drill sergeant well, spoken to a drunken young soldier in his platoon named Larry Pontoon. He was shot to death by Iraqi insurgents to months into his first tour of duty. Not strong enough to hold his skull together. But he quit his addiction.

"Okay, thanks Johnny. You really helped me a lot over the past few days, and you've encouraged me. I'm going to study hard for the finals, and I'm going to do well. Thanks."

"It's no big deal."

"Coming from you, I'm sure it's not." Johnny didn't know whether to be insulted or complimented. He ignored the comment. "Just stay off the drugs, okay?"

"Drugs, right."

"Goodbye, Tammy."

"Goodbye."


	14. ERROR NOTICE

**ATTENTION!**

**Due to an error on my computer, I lost all of my files in my My Writing folder, including my Fan fiction stories. I was able to recover some of my older files, but I lost the software that read and edited my newer ones. **

**Until this problem has been corrected, the following stories are temporarily(until further notice) discontinued. **

**Until I can figure out how to fix this, I will start new Fics and work on my novel.**

**These are the discontinued stories and their corresponding categories:**

_**GTA: Soldier's War (Grand Theft Auto)**_

_**Simulation 47 (Hitman/ Pretender Crossover)**_

_**Through The Darkness (Silent Hill)**_

**Also, the following stories of which I have NOT uploaded will not be uploaded:**

_**RE: Peril of Bravo Team (Resident Evil)**_

_**Blood Will Flow (Various Slasher Crossovers)**_

**Nonetheless, the following stories are being cancelled no matter what:**

_**Simulation 47 (it is terrible and rushed, plus it has no plot either)**_

_**AVP: Retaliation (No idea where it's going)**_

**Until I repair this problem, please enjoy my other Fan fictions and review them!**


End file.
